The Musings of Dr Weir
by Michelle Birkby
Summary: A silly shippy little vignette really, about Elizabeth and how she feels about John...so obviously WeirSheppard shippy. I warn you now, it's pure fluff.


I'm in love.

It's the most embarrassing, amazing, childish, wonderful, breathtaking, annoying thing in the world. No, make that_ the universe._ I feel like a giddy schoolgirl, breathless teenager, every damn cliché I've ever hated. I'm everything I ever dreamed of being when I was sixteen, and everything I didn't want to be when I was twenty six. I'm everything I never thought I could be.

I'm in love.

This is silly. I'm a grown woman! I should be over this stage of my life. My relationships should be calm and fulfilling and companionable, not this strange rush of hormones and passion and laughter and heat. I shouldn't feel like this when he enters the room. I shouldn't feel like all I want to do is reach over and muss his hair.

And I really wish he wouldn't grin at me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

He can't know what I'm thinking. That as he sits there, giving me his mission report, all I'm thinking that the black shirt looks damn good on him, and the way he perches on my desk is just the sexiest damn thing ever, and that I'd really love to lean over, pull his shirt towards me, and just rip it off...

Calm down, Elizabeth. You were never like this with Simon. Simon was sweet, and kind and sensible and controlled, and you were sweet and calm and sensible when you were with him. You weren't some uncontrolled lust-filled fiend who'd like nothing better than to rip off all John Sheppard' s clothes **right now**, and then just push him back down on the table as he pulls off your jacket, and all the time he's grinning that infuriating smile, or saying something in that luscious voice of his, and you'll have to shut him up, and as your hands are busy with his belt, you'l just have to lean down, and kiss him, kiss him soft and slow, letting passion build, and never let your lips unlock until he melts into silence, and then...

I have to stop daydreaming. I can feel myself blushing. A woman of my age, of my responsibilities, shouldn't be blushing.

But he's just so damn sexy!

I'm too old to find men 'sexy'. I'm not a teenager any more! I'm a grown woman, the head of a huge group of people, military and science, all of whom look to me for leadership, to make the difficult decisions, to keep their lives running smoothly, and I can do it. I do do it, every day.

No, not a teenager. I just feel like one around him.

I'm in love.

It's not pure lust. Lust I can deal with. Lust fades.

And if that was all it was, I could carry on the act with him all the time. The precise, capable, Dr Weir. His boss. The person I'm supposed to be. The one I become when I have to watch him away to die. The one that has to order him to risk his life.

I think she started to slip away from me that day I saw him come back. The day I gave in, and flung my arms round him.

I want to hold him. I want to protect him. I want to save him. I want to talk to him, and let him make me laugh. I want to be wherever he is.

I want him to look at me _that_ way.

Not just the way he has, that twinkle in his eye that says he wouldn't object to me ripping his clothes off. The other way. Very gentle, and vulnerable, and lost, as if somewhere in his mind, he's going through the same inner battle I am.

I'm in love.

I love the way his hair is always messy. I love the way he insists on trying to make me laugh, no matter what's happening. I love the way he touches me, just gently, just the slightest touch that I'm always so aware of. I love the way he always stands beside me. I love the way he protects me. I love the way he stands up for me. I love the way he glances over to me, as if we shared some huge secret.

I guess we do.

We're in love.

And I love the way he's standing out on the balcony now, waiting for me. For a moment I stand in the control room, cool, sensible Dr Weir, all calmness and restraint. But in a minute I'll step on the balcony, and he'll smile at me, and I'll be Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, and he'll being making me laugh, and watching me with that vulnerable, irresistible, heart-breaking little boy face. And I'll admit it to myself again, as I admit it every time I see him.

I'm in love.


End file.
